


in the heat of the summer

by papertulips



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Existential Crisis, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, a collection of sakuatsu's firsts, atsumu's gay awakening basically, side osasuna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papertulips/pseuds/papertulips
Summary: Why did he have to meet Sakusa Kiyoomi on the hottest day of the summer?Atsumu spent hours tracing his fingers along the blunt edge of the human-shaped emptiness inside of his chest. Tokyo was the universe and Atsumu was a dumb little comet. And Kiyoomi was the Sun.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 390





	in the heat of the summer

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by my own struggles w my sexuality, that one scene from ep9 of given, and a bunch of sabrina claudio and brockhampton songs  
> i truly hope those five people that decide to read this after those horrible tags and awful summary will enjoy it because its very dear to me

_How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you?_

* * *

When they were kids, Atsumu watched Osamu fall in love. He did it very often. Sometimes, Atsumu believed Osamu was in love with everything around him. Even the daifuku their mom used to hide so they wouldn’t eat too much, Osamu looked at it with a warm glow in his eyes once they managed to find it with a little help from their dad. At first, it fascinated him, then, it upset him.

It made him wonder what it would feel like to shiver at a light touch of a person he was interested in as they passed each other in the school hallway, would he lie on the floor of his bedroom and silently gaze at the ceiling with a smile on his face after that cute girl from another class sent him a message. Deep down, he wanted to experience that feeling that Osamu could never put into words and would just wave him off and let Atsumu call him a weirdo.

It became even worse once Osamu met Suna Rintarou. It’s not like Rintarou was a bad guy, he was just a huge bitch, and he still is, if the way he boos Atsumu every time he messes up during his matches as a pro player is anything to judge by. It’s just that Rintarou’s cheeks were the same shade of red as the tips of Osamu’s ears every time they sat too close or let their gazes meet. Atsumu wondered what is it like to have someone who messes with everyone around them be nice to you. He wondered what it would feel like to have someone who was only his. Someone who’d tell him first any big news, someone who’d only care about what he has to say about them. Someone he could love in a way that no one else did.

And Atsumu did try to find a person like that. It took five failed attempts at relationships with girls for Osamu to tell him, “For such a scum, you do have high standards”.

And Osamu was, just as usual, right.

No one was charismatic enough. No one was energetic enough. They didn’t appreciate hard work as much as him, didn’t understand his passion, judged him for the way he regarded the only thing he truly loved in his life, volleyball. And Atsumu disliked the way they all faked their feelings for people around them, acted as their dearest friends, and then talked behind their back. With people such as that, even though you are in a relationship, you could never be sure they liked you, either.

In his second year of high school, he met Sakusa Kiyoomi during a practice game. If glaring at each other through the net can be considered meeting, anyway. Atsumu pulled an unexpected dump right at the end of the fourth set, and the ball slammed against the wooden floor right next to Kiyoomi’s outstretched hand. He enjoyed looking down at a boy he has never met before and seeing the absolute rage behind his dark eyes. Though, his wavy strands stuck to his forehead and his forearms were red from receiving all the balls Aran and Osamu sent his way. He had two moles right above his eyebrow that Atsumu would definitely use to draw a smiley face on his forehead if he was given a chance. Kiyoomi gripped his hand below the net hard enough to bruise as he nodded at him, and Atsumu grinned, game on.

Atsumu’s first loss with Inarizaki was against Itachiyama. Kiyoomi smiled at him as he shook his hand slowly, and Atsumu narrowed his eyes at him.

“Good game,” he said.

“Do better next time,” Kiyoomi replied.

Atsumu didn’t understand the storm in his chest every time Kiyoomi looked at him. They never exchanged more than a few words that were mostly threats, but he still thought that Kiyoomi was so different than anyone he’s ever met. This rivalry where Kiyoomi would never go easy on him, even during the games Atsumu wasn’t in his best form; this game of push and pull, Atsumu wanting to reach out to Kiyoomi after a match but always giving up, and feeling Kiyoomi’s heavy gaze on him once they started packing up and heading toward the locker rooms. It had always felt as if they both wanted something more - was it more time to insult each other or to finally properly meet and have a small talk before Shinsuke yelled at Atsumu to change quickly.

He never understood it, and it was exceptionally hard to explain it to Osamu and Rintarou who would tease him about the way Kiyoomi seemed to be the only person who’s opinion he cared about.

“It’s like you play good not to win, but to impress Sakusa-kun,” Osamu said and Rintarou nodded, throwing his arm around his boyfriend.

“Guess who has a crush...”

A crush?

This is what being in love feels like?

And the most confusing part, Kiyoomi was a guy. A dude.

When Osamu and Rintarou became a thing (and even way before that, Atsumu isn’t dense, despite the popular claims) Atsumu didn’t find it unnatural or abnormal or whatever the hell people used as a reason to fuel their hatred. They were actually quite annoying and it felt like Osamu finally got a partner in crime which was traumatizing Atsumu. But they were also disgustingly sweet and he, somewhere deep down, craved what they had.

But he had never thought about being attracted to another boy before. Was it that big of a deal, anyway? He never liked girls because they were girls, but because they looked nice and smelled nice and that’s something boys failed at miserably.

“I’m gay?”

Osamu and Rintarou looked at each other in surprise.

“I mean, do you like Sakusa-kun?”

Did he?

Kiyoomi was mean and competitive. He always looked at Atsumu like he wanted to put a fist through his jaw. He had long eyelashes and wavy hair that stuck out in all the strange places after every match. He was one of the three top high school players in the country.

There wasn’t anything he could dislike about Kiyoomi. But that didn’t mean he _liked_ liked him.

Osamu was right, thinking too much does, in fact, hurt his head, so he gave up and refused to put a name to it.

Though, the first time his heart skips a beat is when, in his second year, Atsumu walked into the wrong locker room after another game won by his team at the Nationals.

He was replying to a whole bunch of messages his family sent him after his mom (most likely), told everyone about their win. Don’t get him wrong, it’s not like he hates it when people praise him, it’s just that he doesn’t have enough patience to reply to everyone who does so. It’s not like celebrities ever do so.

“Did you get lost, Miya?”

Atsumu looked up from his phone as he closed the door of the locker room behind him. His mouth dropped open. It’s been a while since he’s seen Sakusa Kiyoomi.

“Uh...” I guess I did. Lame. Maybe you’re the one who got lost. Shut up. I’m right where I want to be. What?

“Are you okay?” Atsumu said, in the end, pointing to Kiyoomi’s knee with his finger. Kiyoomi jutted his lower lip and looked down. Atsumu never knew Sakusa Kiyoomi was capable of pouting so cutely.

“My knee pad slid off and I didn’t realize before I dived in.”

Atsumu took a few steps forward and leaned in to take a look at the bruise. It wasn’t too bad. The skin had peeled off a bit and Atsumu knew from his own experience that it burned like hell, but at least the bleeding stopped.

“Did you disinfect it?”

“Of course I did!” Kiyoomi replied instantly, and Atsumu almost laughed at the way he sounded so offended. He had heard rumors about Kiyoomi being careful in public when it came to who he touched, where he sat, what he held with his bare hands. It had always been told to Atsumu with a laugh and a wave of the hand but he didn’t find it funny or weird. If anything, he admired Kiyoomi for it. Maybe he would be doing the same thing if he was more responsible. If he was.

“I have a plaster. Do you want it? The fabric of your jeans probably won’t feel nice against the wound.”

Kiyoomi scrunched his nose and nodded, and Atsumu smiled, opening his bag.

Now, it took him months of overthinking to finally realize the real reason why he didn’t simply give the plaster to Kiyoomi and left the locker room, which he had no business being in, in the first place, but instead knelt in front of him, completely oblivious to Kiyoomi’s flushed cheeks and eyebrows raised in surprise. Atsumu thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest as he smoothed his thumbs over the plaster, making sure it was taped neatly and covered the entire wound.

He itched to do something that wasn’t running out.

“That’s... enough,” Kiyoomi grabbed Atsumu’s hand with his own to stop his fingers from thoughtlessly tracing his skin for any longer, “Thank you.”

Kiyoomi’s fingers were slightly longer than his. The skin on his hands was smooth and moisturized, it smelled like coconut. Atsumu almost felt embarrassed of his own dry, calloused hands. His thumb rested on Kiyoomi’s knuckles and Atsumu wanted to drag it across them just like Osamu did whenever he held Rintarou’s hand and thought no one would notice.

Strangely enough, that was the first time Atsumu held hands with someone and felt like he was going to pass out. In a weirdly good way.

Atsumu had his first kiss when he turned fifteen. His second girlfriend (the first one didn’t last long enough for that) got on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips that definitely had too much lipstick on them to his own, and Atsumu didn’t even have enough time to hold her hand or wrap his arms around her as they did in the movies before she ran off and left him standing alone in front of the school. Osamu laughed at the red circle around his lips during the entire walk back home.

He had many kisses after that, too. But he had a hard time describing what they were like. Because they pretty much made him feel nothing.

Even when he was dragged into the janitor’s closet and pinned against the wall, Atsumu would sometimes open his eyes and stare at the ceiling wondering when is this going to end so he can go back to his class. He didn’t even hate the kisses that much, some girls were amazing at it, they just weren’t like everyone described them to be. And he had never expected the fireworks, just to be clear. The only part that both disappointed and confused him is that no one he has ever been with hadn’t been able to evoke any sort of emotions in him.

During the summer break after his second year of high school, Atsumu and Osamu went to Tokyo to visit their aunt. She had a large apartment somewhere in the middle of the city and lived solely off of her art. Osamu has always said that he loved spending time with her because she has taught him many things. Atsumu didn’t engage much in their art, literature and philosophy talk, but it was a nice background noise to fall asleep to on the couch of his aunt’s living room.

That July, she was rarely ever at home because she was preparing a huge exhibition. However, she still insisted on having Atsumu and Osamu over just as every year because she thought they had friends there. Actually, it was Osamu who managed to meet some people in Tokyo while Atsumu mostly spent time catching up on TV shows and working out.

Summer should be full of new opportunities to be reckless, stupid and a teenager. Yet, every summer, Atsumu was lonely. And he sometimes let himself think it was his own fault. Osamu had invited him to hang out with his friends a thousand times before and Atsumu always refused. There was certainly something lovely about being alone and focusing on himself, but it was hard to ignore the emptiness in his chest he couldn’t really define.

Atsumu never knew what it felt like to trust someone with your everything.

It was a rather hot Thursday when Atsumu finally got bored and decided to go out. The concrete looked like you could fry eggs on it and the air in the heart of the city smelled like hot dog water.

He took his aunt’s bike and drove for what felt like hours. The only stop in his way was when he decided to have ice cream.

Atsumu spent too much time thinking. He barely remembered the roads he took and the buildings and people he has passed. He was too distracted by the way his heart ached for a reason he couldn’t quite comprehend.

The sun has already gone down when Atsumu noticed a small park. It was empty as he cycled the slowest he did that day toward it.

Then, he noticed someone occupying the bench looking at the little lake in the center of the park, which he was going for, and almost changed the direction until he saw the said person’s shoulders shaking.

“Hey, are you okay?” Atsumu asked, stopping in front of the bench with both of his feet on the ground.

The stranger, a boy, looked up at him. He had a runny nose. It took Atsumu a few seconds to recognize him.

“Miya? You’re here.”

Why? Why?

Why did he have to see Sakusa Kiyoomi on the hottest day of the summer? Why does he have to be the first person in the world who’s existence Atsumu acknowledged after a few days of being devoid of any emotion but that little needle that kept poking his heart? Atsumu spent hours tracing his fingers along the blunt edge of the human-shaped emptiness inside of his chest. Why did he run into Kiyoomi now, after all the pain, he found the one that made him feel both the most and the least at the same time, in the biggest city in the world. Tokyo was the universe and Atsumu was a dumb little comet.

Atsumu sometimes felt like he wasn’t real.

“I am...” Atsumu traced off.

What did he mean by _you’re here_? Did Kiyoomi expect him to be there? Did he want him to be there? Why would Atsumu be there? And for him?

“Did you hurt your knee again?”

Kiyoomi chuckled, pulling his knees to his chest. He looked very small.

“I wish I hurt my knee.”

Atsumu furrowed his eyebrows. What a stupid thing to say.

He carefully rested the bike on the ground and moved to take a seat next to Kiyoomi.

“Do you want a cigarette?”

“You smoke?” Atsumu asked, surprised.

Kiyoomi shrugged. “Sometimes. You look like shit, thought you might use one.”

Atsumu can afford to look like shit from time to time. It’s okay.

“Why are you smoking tonight?”

Kiyoomi did that thing again. He pouted. Atsumu thought that maybe he did that when he was hurt.

“I’m not sure. Things have been wrong lately, and smoking is the only thing that feels right, now.”

Atsumu hummed. “Can I get one, then?”

Atsumu had never smoked a cigarette before that. Smoking at sixteen probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but then again, Atsumu hasn’t done many smart things in his life.

And having a cigarette between his lips felt like the best decision he has ever made once Kiyoomi leaned in to light it.

“Drag,” Kiyoomi said, and Atsumu did, but immediately started coughing afterward. Kiyoomi put a hand on his shoulder.

“Try again, but inhale a bit of air first, and then drag it all the way here.” Kiyoomi pressed a finger to his chest.

Atsumu tried again, and fortunately, he didn’t cough because a second time would probably be embarrassing. For some reason, he didn’t want to make a fool out of himself in front of Kiyoomi.

“Oh, I...” Atsumu started, but his head fell backward, and he would have hit the wooden backrest if it weren’t for Kiyoomi who pressed his hand on Atsumu’s nape. “Why am I dizzy?” Atsumu giggled.

“It’s okay. Those might be a bit strong for you.”

They sat in silence. Atsumu wanted to tell Kiyoomi about his void.

“What are you doing in Tokyo?”

“Visiting my aunt. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to go out but I didn’t want to see anyone.”

“Should I leave?”

Kiyoomi turned his head to face Atsumu, his hand almost flying to his knee as if he wanted to stop him, but he retreated it quickly.

“No. You don’t seem like a threat.”

Atsumu laughed. “A threat?”

“Yes. All my friends are a threat. They always want to know why am I doing things the way I am. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. I won’t ask.”

Atsumu continued smoking. The dizziness was starting to feel strange but in a good way. He couldn’t hold his head up.

“Can I lean my head on you? I feel like it’s gonna fall off.”

“Okay.”

Atsumu inched closer. The night was as hot as they come in Tokyo, but Sakusa Kiyoomi was a different kind of warm.

When icy little comets accidentally cross their path with the Sun, they warm up and start outgassing. That’s how Atsumu felt whenever he met Kiyoomi. Not that he wanted to release gasses, but there was a fire in his chest and everything he had ever been afraid of saying before threatened to pour out of his mouth like rain on an October evening. It was strange.

Why did he feel as if he could trust Kiyoomi with his everything?

“I’m gonna tell your coach you’ve been smoking.”

“Sure you are.”

Atsumu laughed. The smoke was starting to make him tear up.

“Look at us. Two best players in the country smoking together. What a scandal.”

Atsumu knows that if Kiyoomi could, he would’ve looked at him with those wide black eyes of his.

“You think we are the best?”

“Maybe not right now, but we sure as hell will be one day. We should play on the same team and beat everyone.”

“You sound so convinced you’re better than anyone.”

“Because I am. I mean, at least I have the potential to be. And so do you.” Atsumu nudged him with his elbow. What was he even doing praising his biggest rival?

“Thank you. I hope we will be on the same team.”

Atsumu flicked the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it with his foot but Kiyoomi made him get up and put the filter in an empty bag of candies that he had probably eaten before Atsumu got there. That’s unfortunate.

When Atsumu sat back on the bench, he didn’t lay his head back on Kiyoomi’s shoulder.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Atsumu crossed his legs, leaning against the handrest so he was facing Kiyoomi. Probably not the smartest decision. Kiyoomi looked somewhat like an angel under the moonlight. His hair was pretty. Seemed soft. Atsumu wondered if he’d look even more ethereal if he let it grow to his shoulders.

“I don’t. I’m tired of girlfriends.” Atsumu sighed.

“Me too. I’ve never had one but my friends keep making me go on a date with a girl that seems to like me. She’s pretty but I don’t feel like doing it. Is that weird? I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”

Atsumu’s heart slammed against his chest so hard he had to put his hand over it.

“It’s okay. You are fifteen.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Most fifteen-year-olds have been in love. Or at least deluded themselves that they have. I watch them or those stupid American movies and wonder what it would feel like to experience the first kiss, the hand holding, sex, and shit, you know?”

Kiyoomi looked at him so vulnerably that Atsumu thought he will see right through him if he lies.

“I’ve experienced all of those.”

Kiyoomi’s gaze dropped.

“I don’t think I’ve been in love, either. Actually, I never feel anything. Isn’t that strange?”

Kiyoomi shrugged. “A bit.”

Atsumu reached out to take his hand in his own, and Kiyoomi looked like a startled cat.

“Sometimes, I hold a girl’s hand like this, and I wish I was disgusted.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired of not feeling anything.”

Kiyoomi swallowed and Atsumu’s eyes followed his Adam’s apple.

Please don’t ask that.

“What do you feel right now?”

Kiyoomi was so brave. Braver than Atsumu could ever be, yet he was the one who acted as if he had all the balls in the world.

“You are warm. I have bad circulation. It’s nice.”

Kiyoomi smiled. “What do you feel when you kiss girls? That can’t be nothing, right?”

Atsumu overexaggerated a sigh. “I sometimes even kiss them first, but it always ends with me just wanting it to end already. You think that’s stupid?”

Kiyoomi bite his lip and shook his head. His fingers were still between Atsumu’s.

“Have you ever kissed a boy, then?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Atsumu stopped thinking about it because it gave him a headache, but only if Kiyoomi knew he was the one who planted that idea in his head, after all. Maybe Rintarou and Osamu were a little more to blame, but it’s not them who Atsumu spent hours thinking about.

“Maybe. Have you?”

Kiyoomi shook his head again. The wavy strands falling over his forehead bounced every time he did so.

“Do you think it would be weird if we kissed?”

“A bit, yeah.”

They both laughed, and Atsumu was the first one to lean forward. Kiyoomi didn’t move, but his eyelashes did cast a pretty shadow over his cheeks as his eyes dropped to Atsumu’s lips.

“Will you still be mean to me during games if we kiss?”

Kiyoomi hit his shoulder with his free hand, and Atsumu used that opportunity to pull him closer. 

“Depends on how good you kiss.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Kiyoomi whispered so close to his lips he almost brushed them, and Atsumu decided he was going to take that breath away from him.

Atsumu is twenty when he drops his head on Kiyoomi’s bare chest. It’s so hot inside his dorm and Atsumu’s skin is glistening with sweat that will make Kiyoomi push him away any second now. Surprisingly, wraps his arms around Atsumu’s waist and presses his lips to the crown of his head.

“Are you okay?”

Atsumu exhales dramatically, turning his head to dig his chin into Kiyoomi’s chest. It makes him yelp.

“I don’t think I can walk.”

Kiyoomi laughs, brushing a strand of Atsumu’s hair from his forehead. It’s a prettier shade of yellow now.

“I’ll carry you to shower.”

“I’ve always wanted shower sex.”

“Shut up. Your dick works like you’re forty.”

Atsumu grins, raising up on his elbows to press a kiss on Kiyoomi’s nose.

“And what would you know about my dick?”

“God, you are a nuisance.”

Kiyoomi pushes him onto the bed, and Atsumu almost expects him to leave to take a shower, but he doesn’t. He lies on his side and traces the skin on Atsumu’s chest with the tip of his finger.

“What do you feel right now?”

“Pain in my ass.”

“No, really, Tsumu.”

Atsumu looks at him, and his fingers end up in Kiyoomi’s hair, just like they always do, so easily.

“Like an overheated blow dryer. I’m so happy.”

“I am, too.”

“I felt like this when we first kissed. I wanted to do it over and over again and then die.”

And Atsumu is convinced he is going to die just in a few minutes. And then Kiyoomi is going to touch him again, tenderly, just like he knows the best, and bring him back from the dead. Atsumu has lived so many lives. He isn’t a sixteen-year-old boy anymore. He is real now.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've come so far, please support black people in their fight for justice that they deserve. speak up, donate, protest, support black voices, talk to your family and your friends about it, educate them and yourself. we owe so much to the black community. we all need to be on their side.


End file.
